A Need Too Urgent To Deny
by bartagnans
Summary: "Say you love me," he dares to ask into the blinding darkness. To say she didn't would be to lie and to deny all that was between them.


_My take on that night "beneath a moonless sky"._ _I know it's been done countless times before but I wanted to write my own. Besides, another Phan's perspective couldn't hurt. This one in particular was_ _inspired by a text post of mine on tumblr that highlights references to other songs from PoTO, of which there are a couple so please let me know if you notice them!_

 _Please read, review and enjoy._

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing._

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 **A NEED TOO URGENT TO DENY**

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It came as a creak at first, a faint screech against the frame of the door. As it was pushed aside, the bitter wind flooded into the expanse of the suite, a harsh whisper to announce the arrival of a guest.

Welcome or otherwise, she neglected to wait to be ushered inside. "Angel?" Christine queried into the shadows, hoping they were not empty.

At first, she received only silence in reply, but a sharp intake of breath assured her that she was not alone. "Where are you, my Angel? The darkness is blinding..." To be true, she couldn't be entirely certain that she'd come to the right address. It was an abandoned cottage in a darkling corner of Paris. It could very well be that a squatter lay in a stupor by the hearth.

"Answer me, won't you..." she demanded, growing increasingly wary that she was not in favourable company.

Suddenly, an unsuspecting, but familiar sound reverberated towards her. It was music - a prayer to lull her to sleep; a melody she recalled waking to once. And though her eyes saw only blackness, her mind brought forth the image of his music box, the monkey figurine with two golden cymbals in hand. She heard it now, chiming softly in the dark. It was a comfort to them both.

"Do not hide from me," she closes the door. "You needn't fret about the world. It's just us now." It's a promise she intends to keep. After all, there was no place for the world between them. No, not that world of prejudiced and scathing remarks; a world that expected too much of those who had little to give. Not that world she'd locked out in the cold.

Braving the darkness, Christine put faith in her ears to guide her toward the source of the music. "Please Angel, where are you?" Her tone was on the edge of pleading. If need be, she would for the past had shown she was not above it.

For a moment it seemed she was alone once more, as if he'd shied away from her again, faithless in her compassion and capacity to empathise with his solitude - from which she'd come to save him. "Have you lost your voice?" It was an innocent enough question and were he in a lighter mood, she was certain he might've scoffed at the thought. After all, she was his voice and was she not lost to him now?

They'd been apart for well over a month and he'd resigned himself to the fact that he would never see her again. She was to believe that he was dead; to accept it and to move on with her life. Instead, she ignored the claims of both the police and the papers and sought him out. _Whatever for_ , he might've asked. _How came you upon this place_? He could've wondered. W _hy must you torment me so!_ He nearly implored.

Alas, these words too were lost on him. They fell limp at the base of his throat, unable to force themselves past the lump there. He daren't speak, refusing to trust his voice not to break. He could scarcely believe that she was here, of her own volition no less, beckoning for his embrace. It was more than likely a dream. Surely. Possibly. But then, a sweet scent filtered it's way around him, suffocating him in that which he knew only as his Christine. A dream in waking, perhaps? Should he feel disinclined to deny it, there was certainly a great deal more magic in the world than either of them cared to admit.

"I'm here," she affirmed, if to simply dispel his delusions that she was not.

Sensing his approach, Christine remains silent. She should explain herself, the reasons for her being there, if only to spare him the confusion she'd abandoned at the threshold.

Not two hours prior, she'd been sat at her vanity, running a comb through her hair as she stared at her fiancé's reflection. To Raoul, she appeared every bit the pristine image of a bride-to-be, eager to be wed the next morning. But for all his bravado and heartfelt promises, he saw only the tip of the iceberg. There was so much more to Christine Daaé beneath the surface of the seemingly calm, untroubled sea of her facade.

"Are you alright, my darling?" Raoul has asked her. Some small measure of dread etched the corners of his words, as though fearful of her answer. Apparently he'd seen something in her eyes that compelled him to ask. Perhaps her own mask had been far more transparent than she'd hoped. In any case, she turned slightly in her stool to grant him a smile as her answer. It would serve to sate his concerns if not her own.

Without pressing further and having decided that all was well, Raoul kissed her with his customary endearment and left the room. Once the door shut behind him, Christine's mouth dropped as she heaved a deep sigh, relieving her body of the tension that had inadvertently built up within her.

Although she felt deeply for her husband-to-be, she hadn't yet been able to return the sentiment. It wouldn't entirely be a lie - she loved Raoul. She would marry him come the morrow if only it were not for the conspicuous chill ghosting along the soles of her feet. As it was, her love for him was just that: a cold, distant memory from her childhood. Had they spent a longer time together, they would have likely become one another's intended. They got along so well and showed a keen interest in the joys of the other. Regrettably, with the passing of time, Christine too had grown older, sombre and distant. What once amused her could no more lift her lips in joy than fill her heart with warmth.

Despite their efforts, both Christine and Raoul shared nothing beyond those fleeting childhood fancies. He wasn't privy to the pure subtleties of wandering mindlessly or the careless rumblings of hidden beauties. And least of all, neither the interest nor the passion for her beloved music. The latter of which she'd sacrifice for nothing.

Truthfully though, she considered herself fortunate to have the heart of a man who could offer lifelong security. And yet, against her better judgment and the supposed norms imposed by society, she couldn't help but yearn for another. That was the torment of it.

She'd been given a choice deep down in the catacombs of the opera house. One much like the same she presented to the reflection staring back at her.

Though her initial intentions were different, she had, after all, made that choice then and she could only reach out to him as he stood before her now.

"Did you think I'd forgotten my angel?" She asked him, more rhetorical than not.

He was close enough now to discern his figure from the dark, but the lack of light obscured his features. She wanted to see his face - to know what he was feeling through the eyes that so often betrayed him.

"Have you forgotten yours?" By the subtle break in her voice he could tell that she feared he might have.

"Oh Christine..." he began as his hand sought hers in the darkness between them. "My Christine." He could feel her tremble at his voice.

However could she believe such a thing? Didn't she know that she was all there ever was? That she was everything? As per his incessant plea, she'd left him, taking his heart and soul with her. She had both; she was both. She was the light of his life - golden and warm; bright and beautiful: the essence of benediction. And he was but a shadow - a dark spectre of someone he might've been. He didn't deserve her and all that she was willing to give.

And yet, he was of neither mind nor position to turn her away now. He would let his questions fall into shadow with their doubts. There was no need to give voice to any of them, not with her eager fingers toying anxiously at the ties of his tunic.

No. He would ask of her one thing and one thing only. Once and never again.

A moment passed, then another before he was able. "Say you love me..." He managed, barely a whisper.

With the courage that hadn't deserted her, she reached out a hand to caress his unmasked face and replied. "You know, I do."

And there was quite simply nothing left to do but to kiss him with all the intensity and conviction of her words. In the embrace that followed, the world fell away, completely and at last.


End file.
